


To Sundermount and Back, Per Flemeth

by Emma_Trevelyan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Bianca is a jeep, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Fawx, Modern AU, Road Trippin, Smut, TW: Mention of Anxiety and Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Trevelyan/pseuds/Emma_Trevelyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In modern Kirkwall, Ana Hawke has to take a roadtrip to the Dalish Reservation on Sundermount. Carver drives, Varric provides the wheels, while Hawke sits in the back with Fenris desperately trying to not be attracted to him.</p><p>A reinterpretation of Merrill's recruitment quest as a road trip through the mountains. Mild trigger warning for some references to anxiety and past abuse, but I kept it as fluffy as humanly possible. </p><p>My entries into FenHawke Week 2016</p><p>All of this inspired by the lovely and talented The Fawx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Oh-ho! The Broody Tells a Joke!

“What in the Maker’s name is _that?”_ Ana Hawke scoffed, her normally diplomatic demeanor forgotten in the moment of _utter horror_ at the car Varric had shown up in.

“That, Hawke, is Bianca,” Varric answered proudly.

The old Jeep Scout couldn’t be _functional_ , could it? Even _Fenris_ of all people was snickering at the bucket of ancient bolts roaring away in her driveway. She wished she could stop gaping, and she wished she could control the giggle in her chest, and thankfully, Carver’s comment drew her attention away from… Bianca.

“It’s orange,” the younger Hawke deadpanned.

“That it is,” Fenris murmured under his breath; he was gnawing on a tattooed knuckle to stifle his laughter.

“It’s an _ugly_ orange,” Carver continued.

 _That it is,_ Ana thought. The huge car was that awful orangey-brown color that car makers just _loved_ some 30 years ago, for some reason. Bianca was by far the ugliest car Ana had ever seen. And yet, she was spacious and ran well and didn’t smell terrible. Even with all their stuff and their gear plus the four of them, there was still plenty of room. If they couldn’t get hotel rooms (which, given a shoestring budget was extravagant for this little road trip, they most likely couldn’t) they could just sleep in the car. Hawke piled her favorite pillow and blanket next to her thread-bare Wade’s backpack before piling into the seat behind the driver. Varric hopped into the shotgun seat, asking Fenris (again) if he didn’t mind the back. The elf responded with a low murmur of ‘it is no trouble’ before clamoring into the back.

Ana couldn’t help but notice that he was beautiful—everything about him was a contradiction. Soft features with rough hands; wide eyes with dark lashes with sharp cheekbones; full lips and that _voice_. Chocolate over gravel. Honey over rock salt. Sweet and rough; even the thatch of long, messy white hair and the swirling tattoos covering his entire body served to emphasize his handsomeness. He, of course, barely looked at her _at all,_ let alone as a potential partner. She relegated him straight to her secret, guiltiest fantasies and settled into the back seat, ready for a long drive.

“The Dalish reservation is about a three-day trip,” Varric explained, poring over the map on his lap. “We have enough for gas; Hawke, you have your phone; we have the cooler in the back. I think we’re ready to go.”

Ana eyed the tape player—Maker, the _tape player—_ warily. Last she checked, she didn’t own any cassettes. Neither did Varric, if she was remembering correctly.

“Will we be able to listen to music on this… trip?” Ana asked, thinking forlornly of her IPod with the killer playlists and the _brand new CDs_ she just put on there.

“Hawke, you underestimate me,” Varric popped open the glove compartment and pulled out an adorable relic she didn’t know existed anymore—a cassette-headphone adaptor.

Ana had to laugh; “Something tells me we’re going to regret this.”

Carver rolled his eyes in the rearview mirror and threw Bianca into gear, the engine growling to life as they pulled out of the driveway. Ana waved out the window to her mother, whose disapproving shake could be seen even through Gamlen’s grubby kitchen window.

The city of Kirkwall, at least the roads through Lowtown and the Docks towards the highway, was congested and grimy. Hawke had been devastated when their house in Lothering had burned down, but there was always a positive side to things. At least, that’s how she saw things. But her family had made it to Kirkwall, and that’s what mattered. It was only a few hours before they were navigating the cliff-hugging highway on the Wounded Coast. The guard rail seemed so flimsy compared to the monster Jeep, and Ana suddenly couldn’t be next to the window.

“Hawke?” Fenris’s brows were drawn down in concern, the book in his hands all but forgotten.

“Sorry, just…” Ana gulped audibly, knowing full well she shouldn’t look down and doing it anyway. Her stomach flipped over at the sight of the rocks and waves far _far_ below. “I’m afraid of heights and I’m by the cliff face. That’s all.”

Fenris closed his book over his thumb, using his free hand to pat the seat next to him in silent invitation. Ana only hesitated long enough for a gust of wind to buffet the old car. Carver managed to get it under control pretty easily, but it was far and away too close for Ana’s comfort. She scrambled over the bench seat, pressing into Fenris’s side; her anxiety almost immediately waned.

Fenris adjusted his arm, cradling her shoulder and giving her a perfect little nook to settle into; “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” Ana replied, hoping her long hair would hide her sudden blush. He smelled good; a masculine scent with notes of citrus and spice. It was unlike anything she’d ever smelled and… she rather _liked_ it.

~~~

“Andraste’s Ass, Varric, how is this bucket of bolts being held together?” Carver growled, jiggling the gear shift into third. “Hopes and chewing gum?”

“You badmouth Bianca one more time, Junior, you’re walking back to Kirkwall,” Varric quipped, not once looking up from his magazine. (‘Literary journal, Hawke. Makes it sound less like _Lowtown Daily.’_ )

“Well, _Bianca_ can barely make it into fourth!” Carver snapped, wincing at the awful grinding sound coming out of the engine.

Ana cast a glance over her shoulder, still burrowed in Fenris’s side, nervously gauging the giant hill they were making their way up (and the car that was riding Bianca’s ass _way_ too close.) If they stalled, it would be an issue.

_Why oh why did I think Carver could make this drive? For that matter, why did Varric think he could make this drive?_

“Bianca is temperamental but dependable, Junior,” Varric chastised, his attention finally drawn from his magazine (‘sorry, literary journal’). “You can’t just slam her into fifth and expect her to be ready; you have to _ease_ her into it.”

“That’s what she said.”

It was so quiet, Ana couldn’t even be sure she heard it right, but… _Fenris?_ She’d felt his breath ghost over her ear, and his deliciously kissable mouth was drawn up in a smirk, but… _Fenris?_ Made a ‘that’s what she said’ joke? He made a _joke?_ Her breath gusted out in a disbelieving squawk.

“Hawke?” Varric turned in his seat, smirking over his shoulder.

Ana glanced between Varric and Fenris; the latter’s smug smirk told her he knew _exactly_ what he did. Carver and Varric obviously hadn’t heard him over the engine. Ana scowled at Fenris; “No worries, Varric. Loose spring poked me in the spleen again.”

Varric chuckled under his breath; “Yeah, Bianca’s testy like that.”

Once Varric had his nose buried back in his ‘literary journal’ and Carver was once again wrestling his way up the sharply-curving hill, Ana turned to Fenris with an indignant poke in his chest. He sniggered under his breath, and she _tried (_ oh, she tried) to ignore the effect it had on her.

“Who knew you had a sense of humor,” Ana burrowed down deeper into his side. His shoulder must be aching, but he’d made no move to adjust, and so she hadn’t either.

“I’m full of surprises,” he retorted, focusing on his book, though his eyes weren’t moving. His self-satisfied grin was by and large _too attractive_ to be fair.

“An adolescent sense of humor,” Ana shot back, ruffling his messy hair playfully.

He pressed his hand to his heart (or rather, his hand over his paperback over his heart) with a quirked brow and an exaggerated pout; “You wound me, Hawke.”

“Completely by accident, I assure you.”

“I’m going to regret showing you this side of me,” he replied, though his eyes were bright and playful.

“Probably not,” Ana shrugged. “I’m not Isabela, after all.”

  
  


 


	2. Day 2: AUs and Crossovers

Ana had odd road trip rules. She had complex rules about music he couldn’t keep track of, rules about pictures and the taking thereof, and mostly rules about food. While their trip to the Dalish reservation on Sundermount was crucial, it wasn’t necessarily time sensitive, and Ana had taken it upon herself to make a list of all the places on their trip she wanted to stop at, including the tiniest little burger stand in the Free Marches seemingly in the middle of nowhere. But their burgers were juicy and greasy, their milkshakes thick, and they had bottles of hot sauce amongst the condiments, so Fenris was happy.

Varric and Carver were having a good-natured argument over onion rings _on_ burgers (Fenris was firmly anti-onion rings on the burger; they stood up just fine on their own) and having finished his own lunch, Fenris made his way back to the car. He figured some quiet time couldn’t hurt, and it was hard to concentrate on his book when Ana pressed into his side, with her soft hair brushing the side of his neck. He loved the color of her hair, and had been surprised to learn the scarlet shade did _not_ , in fact, come out of a bottle.

Ana was… something else. A little too severe for classic beauty, with her stubborn chin and strong nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice, but her eyes were a soft gray ringed with dark lashes and her full lips were an alluring pink. Her freckles begged to be touched, and she fit so perfectly in the space his body created. She was beautiful… And he was broken. He was a broken man, unable to see the world outside his narrow point of view. He had nothing—not even a name—to offer her, and he couldn’t put the responsibility of his jagged edges on her slender shoulders.

Regardless of his baggage, though, he couldn’t help the flutter of happiness in his chest when he saw her basking on the hood of the Jeep, soaking up the summer sun. He felt like a voyeur; with her straps pushed down to bare her shoulders and the way her hair fanned out behind her, he could _almost_ picture her looking like that below him, pressed into soft pillows and—

He shook his head sharply, kicking at the gravel of the parking lot. It alerted her to his presence and she rolled off of Bianca’s hood with an easy grace. Her eyes were concealed behind over-sized knock-off designer sunglasses, but he could tell when she looked at him when her posture relaxed and her (perfect) mouth stretched into a wide, easy grin.

“Fenris,” she stretched hugely, adjusting her tank-top straps back onto her shoulder. “We done already?”

“Had to get away,” he replied, shuffling from foot to foot. “I’m finished; we’re waiting on Varric and Carver at this point.”

“I hear you about getting away,” she said, leaning against the car, hissing when the hot metal contacted bare skin. “I was just catching some sun and finishing my shake.”

“I noticed,” Fenris smirked at the cardboard cup in her hand. He struggled for a topic for a moment, temporarily distracted by her perfume… or possibly her lotion, he wasn’t sure. But it was intoxicating, and went well with _her._ “I… are you enjoying the trip?”

She giggled brightly, and even he couldn’t feel embarrassed at his pathetic attempt at a conversation starter; “Yeah, I am. Although, it’s your turn to pick the music. You want me to hook up your IPod?”

“I… I don’t have one,” he ground the toe of his battered Chucks into the gravel, hunching his shoulders.

“Oh,” she said matter-of-factly. There wasn’t even a hint of awkward pity in her voice, and for that he was grateful. She whipped out her own player, an older model and slightly battered. “I have a bunch of stuff on here, if you want to pick your favorite things.”

“I don’t really have favorite music,” he admitted, glowering at nothing in particular. He _hated_ he still let parts of his past define him this way. “I’ve… never had to opportunity.”

From Hawke’s absolute gasp of horror, one would think he just told her he used to kick puppies for fun.

“Fenris, that is absolutely unacceptable,” she crossed her arms in mock indignation. “ _Everyone_ likes music; you just have to find something you like.”

“What if I don’t like anything?” he asked, knowing he was being difficult, but her telling him he _had_ to do anything was putting his teeth on edge.

“Then the subject is dropped forever,” she replied. “Simple as that, but I’m pretty sure I can find something you like. Did anything stick out so far?”

Fenris thought back to the constant stream of different styles: Carver preferred harder, angry rock with strong bass lines; Hawke had eclectic tastes but seemed to prefer mellower, more accessible stuff; Varric seemed to like and listen to anything and everything so long as it was different. He considered the techno-house beat with a back bagpipe and nearly snorted.

“I liked what you were playing once we hit the actual Coast,” he said.

“Ah, _Florence + the Machine_. A favorite of mine,” she whipped out a pair of ear buds, offering him one. She clicked through her playlists, pulling up a song he liked. _A lot._ The throaty voice with the mellow music was right up his alley, and when she offered him the player and told him to pick some stuff he liked, he couldn’t help but explore.

She wasn’t kidding, though. She had just about everything. Not that he was complaining; he rather liked the selection. He found he liked just about everything he came across, but together they narrowed down his choices. He wasn’t so much in the mood for thudding guitars and shrieking metal and he didn’t much care for the pumping techno. Eventually, they came across an album he liked, and he let her know as much.

“Ah, _Walk the Moon,_ ” she grinned widely, hooking up her player. “Good choice.”

“You lead me to strange places, Hawke,” he chuckled.

“I’ll lead you to even stranger places,” she quipped over her shoulder, a coquettish grin on her lips and a suggestive waggle to her eyebrows. “Just watch.”

~~~

_Debussy. Claude Debussy. I have to remember this._

The sun was setting; Varric had just had coffee and had taken the wheel. Carver was nodding off in the front seat, and the whole car had fallen silent save the soft piano music in the background. Varric was quiet; apparently, they would be stopping pretty soon. Ana had her pillow propped between her and the window, but she still seemed awake, if tired. Fenris shifted, trying to find a good position, but Carver’s leg-room requirements left him a touch cramped.

Ana must have noticed, because her soft hand on his arm drew his attention; she let her hand trail down to his forearm, ghosting over his wrist, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. She smiled gently, patting her blanket-covered lap, where her curled legs created the perfect nook.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, almost tentative to break the atmosphere—like the crystalline mood would shatter under his roughened voice.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” she answered, equally quietly.

It took some adjusting, but soon, his head was cradled in her lap, his head cushioned from her bare legs by her blanket. His hand curled up near her knee, and he chanced a caress against her skin. She responded by brushing his hair away from his face, carding her fingers through it. He didn’t even have time to stiffen—normally, his anxiety didn’t let others touch his hair—but it was such an affectionate gesture. It was foreign, but… nice. He felt himself relaxing, settling into her warmth.

“Sleep a bit,” she whispered, sensing his fatigue and struggle to stay awake. “I’ll wake you when we stop, OK?”

“Thanks, Ana,” he sighed, already feeling himself slipping. Her hands and her scent and the feel of her under him was almost too much, and he near plummeted into easy sleep.

It didn’t occur to him until much later that was the first time he’d called her ‘Ana’ out loud.

  
  


 


	3. Day 3: Facing Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of Anxiety and Past Abuse

The first night was great, sleeping under the stars with Ana curled into his chest. Sadly, that didn’t seem to be an option for the second night. That night, circumstances forced him to use the back seat, and with so many bodies and the close quarters, he felt the awful pull of anxiety and panic closing in on him. Or maybe that was just the walls—he couldn’t be sure. So he did something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do, but he knew he wouldn’t be able sleep without it. He took his pills right before bed.

And of course, the nightmares started.

Tiny, cell-like rooms; Hadriana screaming in his face; hiding in the closet; something leather with the bite of metal—a belt, he thought—licking painfully across his back, leaving deep welts, more screaming…

_Can’t breathe!_

He shot awake, sweat plastering his white hair to his forehead; he pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to slow his racing heart. He remembered the exercises his therapist had recommended, but the close confines of the Jeep were too much. He had to get out.

He scrambled outside, taking deep, careful breaths; his pulse refused to slow. He felt a cold sweat break out on his face and chest, and the cool, night air felt way overheated. The humidity was suffocating; he braced himself on his knees and tried poorly to convince himself he wasn’t dying.

“Fenris?”

The soft voice was so quiet, he almost missed it. He would have, if he wasn’t so attuned to her in every way.

“Hawke,” he croaked. Distantly, he could tell he was hyperventilating, but it didn’t seem to matter what he _knew_ , intellectually. His lungs were screaming for more air, and no matter how hard he gasped, he couldn’t seem to get enough. He felt dizzy… his vision started to tunnel.

“Fenris, sweetie,” her voice was soft, but her hands were firm on his biceps. She started rubbing soothing circles on his bowed back. “You’re having a panic attack; you have to stay with me.”

“I can’t breathe,” he gasped, his hand latching onto the one on his arm, holding it tightly. He could feel himself trembling. _This is humiliating._

“It’s ok,” she soothed, pressing her forehead against the back of his neck. “It’s ok.”

She started coaching him through, in for a count of seven, hold for a count of four, out for a count of seven. Repeat. He felt his heart slow, his breath even out, his head clear…

_You’re not there anymore. You’re with Ana. You’re safe._

As his panic faded, a single lucid and painfully clear thought occurred to him; she’d been through this before. She understood. Was it Carver, or was it her?

“Better?” she asked brightly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Oh, how he wanted to lean into that touch.

“Yeah,” he sighed, finally able to stand straight, but too keyed up to attempt sleep again.

“Come sit with me,” Ana insisted, sliding her hand _so easily_ into his. Her slim fingers slotted between his, so stark and white compared to his in the dark. She perched on one of the picnic tables, the rest area only lit by the surprisingly bright moon. He slumped on the bench, but leaned into her legs. “What happened?”

“Just a nightmare,” Fenris sighed. “I should know better than to take my meds right before bed.”

He stopped short, _horrified_ , when he realized what he just said. _Now she knows. She knows you’re broken._

“Klonopin?” she asked conversationally, fitting his body between her knees. He tried to suppress the purr of pleasure when she sank her fingers into his hair, gently working through the tangles, running her short nails over his scalp.

“Lexapro,” he replied, letting his eyes slide closed. He knew what she was doing, and as long as she kept scratching at his head, he was going to let her. In the haze of easy bliss, he almost forgot to ask. “If you don’t mind my asking…”

“Why do I need to take Klonopin?” she finished for him, kneading her fingers into the divot at the base of his skull. He let his head fall forward, and she leaned into him. He propped his elbows on her knees before he even thought of what he was doing—Ana Hawke had this way of bounding forward with reckless abandon, and then dragging him somewhere in the middle before he knew what was what.

“Yes,” he answered, feeling his eyelids start to droop with her ministrations, especially when she started caressing the back of his neck.

“I have nightmares about the fire,” Ana answered easily, though the twinge of disquiet in her voice tugged at something protective in him.

“Fire?”

“The one that destroyed our house in Lothering,” she practically whispered. “I lost… everything. All my clothes, my possessions, all my art. I had a weekend bag packed for visiting a friend in the city, but that was it. That, my computer and the clothes on my back. We all got out, but Bethany went back in for Magnus and… neither of them made it.”

“Sorry, Magnus?” Fenris asked, trying to ignore the pitying tone of his voice.

“My dog,” Ana answered; Fenris felt something wet hit the back of his neck. _She’s crying._ He practically shook himself. _Of course she’s crying, you jack ass! She lost everything!_

He’d given up everything—his home and the people who raised him (he _refused_ to call them family). He had no idea what it was like to have circumstance take all that away.

“All right, I poured my demons out to you,” she chirped brightly, trying (and failing) to disguise the sob in her voice. “So tell me; what happened?”

He sighed, leaning into her chest, trying not to thrill when she rested her chin on his head. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her hands over his heart, and he leaned into the touch. Her hair spilling over his shoulder, close enough to take in her scent (which was now laced with pine and her dry shampoo… it was an intoxicating effect).

“Let’s say… I don’t do well in small spaces.”

“Fenris!” she exclaimed, though mindful of the fact she was right next to his ear, so she was at least quiet. “I didn’t know; I wouldn’t have asked you to come. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” he assured, patting her hand gently. He felt an ugly raised scar on the inside of her wrist and ran the pad of his finger over the puckered skin. “During the day, when I can see out the windows, I’m fine. It’s just… night time, and I’m alone I feel like I’m back there.”

“With your foster family?”

He’d told her enough about Danarius and Hadriana, the abuses he’d endured. He’d been opaque and vague, and he would thank the Maker or the Creators or whoever would listen every day when she didn’t press or prod for details. She let him come out of his shell on his own, coaxing him out with gentle encouragement, instead of the coercion he’d grown used to.

She must have felt the stiffness in his shoulders. She held him a little tighter, her presence both comforting and exhilarating; “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you, Ana.” He turned towards her, not realizing her face was right near his. He felt his lips brush against her cheek, eliciting a slight darkening of her face that could only be the most endearing little blush he’d ever seen.

“Have I mentioned I like when you call me ‘Ana’?” She leaned against his shoulder, sighing deeply. “You feel better? We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I feel better,” he chanced a small kiss to her temple, expecting a reprimand, but only getting a quiet, happy purr.

He slept better after that.

  
  


 


	4. Day 4: Kinky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: Somewhat Explicit Smut

It seemed whatever force controlled the goings on of the world _didn’t_ want them to make it to the Dalish reservation in a timely fashion. It was rather rude, if one was being totally frank. Ana glanced at her phone—service tenuous at best—as Carver guided Bianca through the sudden downpour, swearing the whole time. Apparently, not only were there flash-flood conditions and rockslide warnings across the area, but visibility was poor and it was getting dark.

“Carver,” Ana leaned forward, tapping her brother on the shoulder. “Carver, I know we’re trying to save, but I think we’re going to have to get a motel tonight.”

“I think you might be right,” Varric murmured darkly, glaring at the lightning striking in the distant forests.

“Here, there’s a place right nearby. I’ll call and see if they have availability and make sure they aren’t going to cost us an arm and a leg,” Ana offered.

Fenris burrowed down into the seat; he felt like being churlish and taciturn for the time being. He felt like he’d been in the car forever, and he would _kill_ for a real bed. He knew it wasn’t fair, but part of him blamed Ana for his foul mood. He felt overwrought just being around her, _aching_ to touch her in ways that wouldn’t be appropriate with others (especially her brother) with them. He’d spent the past day and a half desperately trying to keep himself under control, but he couldn’t help but admire the shiny mass of scarlet curls that _begged_ for his touch. The tension was too much for him, especially when those silvery eyes would flicker down to his mouth and darken. He had half a mind to show her _exactly_ what his mouth could do, audience or no.

They confirmed availability with a cheap roadside motel that wasn’t too seedy. As keeper of the cash, Ana was conferring with the front desk agent.

“And you’ll be needing two rooms this evening?” she asked in a bright tone that belied her dim, simple surroundings.

“Just one, thanks,” Ana answered, pulling out her ID and debit card.

“No!” Carver snapped, yanking on Ana’s sweatshirt.

“Carver, we can’t do two rooms,” Ana sighed, an annoyed tilt to her mouth. They’d clearly had this argument before.

“You can’t… you can’t share a room with three guys!” Carver insisted, crossing his thick arms petulantly.

“One of them is my brother, so I think I’ll be OK,” Ana rolled her eyes. “Now we’re keeping the nice lady waiting, so--.”

“No!” Carver repeated, whipping out his card. “I’ll take care of the other room!”

“Carver—.”

“No buts!”

“Fine,” Ana huffed out a sigh before getting everything squared away. Fenris, Varric and Carver were given their keys, and pointed to their rooms. Ana lingered at the desk, chatting amiably with the girl.

That was Ana in a nutshell, really. Caring and sweet, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on, an instant friend to all. She was so beautiful; if Fenris was a poetic man, he could fill volumes with cheesy odes to her eyes, sonnets of her lips, epics about her voice… Sadly, he was not a poetic man, and he had not the courage for action. So he pined. And fantasized. And, despite being a pragmatic man, _hoped._ He hoped, even though he knew others-- Sebastian and Anders and most likely even Isabela-- carried the brightest torches in the Free Marches for Ana Hawke.

He didn’t deserve her.

The rooms weren’t large or well lit, and the beds were far and away too narrow to hold more than one person. Carver, being the largest of the group, managed to get one all to himself, leaving Fenris and Varric to share.

“It’s ok, Broody,” Varric nudged him in the ribs, stretching out on one side of the double bed. “I’m not much of a snuggler.”

Fenris quirked a dark brow at the dwarf, but said nothing. He was just grateful for a bed, to be honest. But of course, Carver had to ruin it. Well, he probably thought he was just being nice, offering a way to pass the time in easy camaraderie with mates and a cheap bottle of tequila. By and large the cheapest bottle of tequila Fenris had ever laid eyes on. Varric was certainly enthusiastic, and while Fenris didn’t want to spoil it…

_The smell._ It brought back… horrible memories. The slight slur in Carver’s guffaws was suddenly screaming in his face; the burn in his nostrils suddenly triggering an intense fear. He had to… He couldn’t trigger it _now._ Not without her here.

A flash of red caught his eye; a figure in the rain. Ana—it had to be, he knew no one else with that hair color—stood in the downpour, her face turned up, letting the water wash over her. Her t-shirt clung to her curves, and her shorts were soaked through. A small part of him begged— _pleaded—_ not to go out there. Just put his head under the pillows and get some sleep. Nothing good could come of going out there.

~~~

Ana loved thunderstorms. She loved rain and the sound of thunder on distant hills. She loved the way everything cooled and stopped and felt cleansed after a big storm like this. So, as stupid as it was, she stood in the rain. She let it wash over her, dousing her clothes instantly, plastering her long hair to her neck and face. It washed away the grime of the trip, the stress of being in such close quarters… and the heat of the fantasy.

Ever since she’d spent those dark, quiet hours with him, she couldn’t _help_ it. She couldn’t stop thinking of his hands on her, his voice muttering _filthy_ things to her. She figured she could write a book about Fenris and title it ‘ _I Didn’t Know I Had A Voice Kink Until…_ ’ and it would completely fit. Every ounce of her being itched to go drag him out of his room and haul him back to hers, demanding he ravish her. But, of course, it could never be. She respected his distance, and she would admire him from afar. That was how it should be.

“Ana!”

She whirled, thinking she was hearing things, but no. There he was, running towards her. He was already drenched, his white hair limp around his ears. He looked a bit like a wet cat, with that permanent frown, and she had to grin a bit.

“Fenris!” she exclaimed, giddy with that special feeling that only came with flagrantly spitting in the face of good sense. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rain pounding the concrete. “Get back inside before you catch your death! Or worse, get struck by lightning!”

“Stand in the rain with me, Fenris!” She grabbed his hands, giggling like a mad woman. She couldn’t help but feel excited by the flush on his face, his eyes fixing on their clasped hands.

“Woman, we are getting soaked.”

“We _are_ soaked!” she countered. “No use rushing right in—we’re as wet as we’re going to get.”

He smiled an indulgent smile, shaking his head in disbelief, but he stood there, running his thumbs over her knuckles. She couldn’t stop smiling; she had to blink water from her eyelashes, and every second she couldn’t see that soft smile was a second wasted.

“We should head back,” he said, his face twisting in something that looked like regret.

“Fenris,” she tightened her fingers on his. “Come back with me. Keep me company.”

He looked… stricken for a moment. His eyes flickered with indecision before he nodded, allowing himself to be leg back. Ana let them into the room, giggling when their sneakers made squishing noises.

“Ana, you have the weirdest laugh.”

“Do I?” She moved through the teensy room, wringing her hair out into the tub. “Can I take that as a compliment?”

“Always,” he replied easily, the intensity in his voice sending curls of heat through her core.

“Why’d you ditch Carver and Varric?” She peeled off her sodden shoes and socks, draping them over the tub. Her sneakers would be wet for the next day or so, at least. She grimaced at the prospect.

“My idea of a good time isn’t cheap tequila and pro-wrestling.” He was ruffling his hands through his hair, a little bit of a curl starting to appear at the ends.

“Ah, good old Carver,” Ana sighed, a fond smile on her face. She toweled her hair once more, trying to encourage the natural curl. She glared at the mirror—she looked ragged, at best. But it would have to do for now—her conditioner was in Kirkwall.

She padded out into the living space and froze. Fenris was standing before her, wearing nothing but his wet jeans, his shoes and socks abandoned, his shirt in his hands. The oversized t-shirts he wore did _nothing_ for his lithe body, from his slender shoulders to his trim waist. He was power and beauty and grace; a lot like a jungle cat.

_Or a wolf._

The silence was near deafening; his breath froze in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing unevenly. They both froze in some sort of limbo, his whole body flushing. It was rather cute, really, with his eyes wide and his lips parted so deliciously. The white swirling tattoos were hypnotic, accentuating every divot, every curve. He was gorgeous, and she wanted to put her hands on him.

“Maker, Fenris,” she breathed. “You’re…”

“Ana,” he sighed… no. Not sighed. _Growled._ Possessive and dark, threatening almost. She watched his fists clench and curl and unclench and tremble. He took her in from head to toe, and she was painfully aware of the fact her t-shirt was practically see-through, clinging to her curves, and suddenly her shorts felt far and away too short.

She was no longer chilled, but heated. She watched—Maker, _watched--_ his pulse jump in his throat, and she could practically hear her own heartbeat. Her breath sped, and her whole body ached to reach out to him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he snarled, closing the space between them in a single stride. His hands were in her hair; he twisted her head to the right angle before he crashed his lips against hers.

His kisses were like everything else about him—rough, demanding, and tenuously controlled. Oh, but she loved it. He suckled her top, then her bottom lip. He pried her mouth open with his tongue and he _devoured,_ swallowing her hungry sighs and groans _._ He was in control—pulling her flush against his body, his skin _burned_ , their mutual heat threatening to set her aflame. One hand stayed fisted in her hair, the other began to wander over the curve of her waist, the swell of her ass. His fingers were bruising, almost too hard, but that beautiful moan when he felt her breasts crush against the hardened planes of his chest… She wanted _more._

He pulled away by degrees, pressing his lips against hers once, then twice.

“Fenris,” she gasped, almost humiliated at the keen in her voice.

“I have been thinking of this,” he growled, the need in his tone visceral. “In fact I can think of little else. I want you, Ana, but tell me to stop and I will. No harm done.”

Ana shook her head, mostly trying to clear the cobwebs of desire. She tried to think, but he was overwhelming. When he stood straight like this, she had to look up to see his eyes. His scent and the feel of his hands on her arms was _too much_ and yet not enough. She needed him, like she needed oxygen and food and water, all of which she would happily give up if only to feel his touch.

“Stay,” she rasped.

The naked relief in his eyes was evident, and his touch softened. His hands went from bruising to tender in the space of a heartbeat, and the slide over her curves was suddenly _reverent_ instead of possessive. Ana felt her body respond as she grasped his shoulders, bracing herself against her increasingly-weak knees. She let out a soft sigh when his fingers crept under her shirt, pushing it higher as he tickled over her ribs.

“I want,” he swallowed hard, his voice rough and low—guttural—and thick with want. “I want to see you. Touch you.”

“ _Please,_ ” Ana whined, sliding her hands into his hair, leaning into him.

He yanked her shirt over her head, muffling her whimper of protest, before his hands were on her again. His strong fingers kneaded at her breast, eliciting a sharp gasp, as he lowered himself to her again. She tried to reciprocate—or, barring that, at least respond appropriately—but his touch had turned her into a wanton disaster. She rolled her hips unsubtly against him, eager for his grasp.

He seemed willing to oblige as he lowered mouth to her nipples, pert and tumescent, and eagerly suckled one rosy peak between his lips. They moan simultaneously—her at the sensation of his hot mouth on her chilled skin, the combination of suction and the scrape of his teeth enough to send curls of flame shooting through her core; him at the taste of her. When he’d laved one into a hypersensitive point of glistening fire, he moved to the other and continued his assault. All the while, he made the same delicious, hungry moans of desire.

It took her a moment to realize his hands were no longer in her hair, but once again skimming over the curve of her waist before opening the button on her shorts. Deft fingers wriggled past her zipper, and the very breath was stolen from her lungs when his knuckles ghosted over her labia. She felt him smile against her breast, his tongue still skillfully working her nipple over and over, but his eyes were glittering up at her with silent laughter.

“Fenris,” she moaned, thrusting her hips forward, begging for contact.

“Mmm,” he gave the little pink peak a sharp bite before going to his knees before her (and if that wasn’t the best image of all time). “I like the way you say my name.”

He worked her shorts over her hips, down to her ankles, his eyes widening when he saw the bare juncture of her thighs, already glistening. Ready for him. He pressed against her, inhaling deeply, moaning deep in his throat at her scent.

“Say it again,” he growled, flicking his tongue forward to tease at her lower lips. He teased over the little pearl at the apex of her sex, sending a shock through her legs that threatened to topple her.

“Fenris,” she gasped, breathless and high. His hands slid back to support her thighs, his thumb hooking around to tease her entrance.

He hooked a long leg over his shoulder, and she had to support herself by grabbing his silky hair. He sighed at the contact, leaning into the touch, as he gazed up at her once more; “Again.”

He was irresistible. She couldn’t refuse him; “ _Fenris._ ”

He purred, leaning forward and spreading her open with the longest fingers of one of his hands, exposing her to him. Her only warning was a brief brush of his breath before he closed his soft lips over her clit.

She cried out wordlessly—mindlessly—as he put that talented mouth to work on her bud. He put just enough pressure as he suckled her through his lips, swirled his tongue around her hood, tapping out a rhythm, trying to find what she liked. She could feel her thighs tremble with the exertion of keeping herself upright, but she was beyond caring.

Fenris, however, seemed to have other ideas once her knee buckled; “Let’s get you somewhere more… comfortable.”

She whimpered at the loss of his mouth on her, but with every liquid step her yearning spiked. He laid her out on the bed, pushing her into the pillows. He drew her legs over his shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to the seam of her cunt; “I have imagined this since the day I met you, Ana.”

“Really?” she asked, almost embarrassed by the fact that she was actually, literally panting.

“You have no idea the effect you have on people,” he murmured against the inside of her thigh, another kiss on her sex. “The effect you have on me.”

“I don’t—.”

“Sshh,” he spread her open with his thumbs, licking long and languid from her opening all the way to her clit, lingering on the tiny bundle of nerves. “You don’t have to say anything.”

With that, he resumed his ministrations; she could scarcely make a sound once he found his rhythm. The only sounds in the room were his hungry slurps and eager moans, like he was enjoying the sweetest treat. Unlike other people she’d been with, he learned quickly, and once he found something that worked, he stuck with it. She felt herself cresting, her orgasm curling up tight inside her so intense she didn’t know if she was about to come or she already came, but once he stuffed two long fingers inside the molten clench of her body, she shattered. She didn’t cry out or moan or whimper, but rather went silent and tense. Her back bowed into a sinuous line and for a moment, she feared she might actually break.

Fenris was gentle, though, and brought her through her crest slowly, bringing her down the other side, stopping just before hypersensitivity set in. She was a quivering mess, whimpering as even the act of adjusting her legs sent spikes of pleasure through her core.

“Ana,” he groaned, his hips rolling against the bed.

“Fenris,” she replied, pulling him up by the shoulders. She slanted her mouth over his, getting lost once again in his frantic kiss. “Fenris, _please._ ”

“You’re--,” he swallowed hard, running his fingers once over her breasts. “You’re sure?”

“Please, Fenris,” she repeated, rocking her hips against him, grinding against his insistent arousal. “ _Take me._ ”

With a quick motion, his jeans were off and clear on the other side of the room, smacking wetly against the wall. She took a moment to admire the long, slender cock hanging heavy and hot between his legs. And yes, his tattoos did go all the way down to _there._ (Though not all the way down the length, so Isabela owed her 10 Sovereigns.) She groaned appreciatively, licking her suddenly too-dry lips. The shy little smile on his face was well worth it.

He levered himself over her, bringing her thigh up enough to open her for him, and with a swift thrust he was seated within her. She sighed at the sudden burning stretch—Oh _Maker_ that was perfect—and she could feel herself rippling along his length. His eyes were blown wide, his lips parted in utterly shattered disbelief.

“Ana,” he moaned, letting his eyes slide closed as he started to move. “Oh, Ana, you’re perfect.”

She undulated under him, her breath coming in pathetic little mewls of pleasure, as he angled his hips _just so_. He drew almost all the way out before slamming back home. His balls slapped against her, her cunt making soft, wet noises as he picked up speed. He braced against her hands, and she linked their fingers. His hips slammed home over and over, pressing against the perfect spot, and she felt herself begin to crest again.

“Fenris,” she gasped breathlessly, pressing her forehead against his. His white hair was slicked with sweat and he wore an expression she’d never seen on him before—raw, open, honest affection. “Oh Maker, Fenris, please don’t stop.”

“Never, Ana,” he gritted, pulling her closer, burrowing his face into her neck. “I am yours.”

Ana felt something dangerous prickle behind her eyes at that simple, innocuous word. _Yours._ She hears it echoed in every moan, every gasp, in her ear. She rolls up to meet every thrust, never once taking her eyes off of him. _Yours._

He loses his rhythm, his hips snapping against her; “Ana. I’m going to--.”

She cups his jaw, burying her fingers in his hair; “Come with me, Fenris. _Please._ ”

The simple request undoes him and he shatters over her with a ragged, falsetto cry. As his thrusts slow, he presses soft, affectionate kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her neck and collarbone, her forehead… Everywhere he can reach. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close. She understands—any distance right now is too much; the tightest embrace is not close enough. She holds him tight, her arms around his shoulders.

She could love this man. She probably _did._

“I meant it you know,” he murmured, his voice sleepy and thick. “Every word.”

“What did you mean?” she asked, rubbing soothing, affectionate circles on his back with her palm.

“Everything,” he repeated. “I am yours. And you _are_ perfect. And I have wanted to do that for… longer than I should admit.”

She has no words, so she presses her lips against his temple, holding him tight. She feels sleep pulling at the edges of her consciousness; she is sated and warm and has a man-shaped blanket and she’s _so happy_ right now.

“Stay the night?” she murmurs sleepily into his hair.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he agrees, settling next to her, his strong arm draped over her waist.

_I hope you’re ok with forever, then._

  
  


 


	5. Day 5: Murphy's Law

The day had started off _so well._

Fenris awoke in an unfamiliar room, which sucked, but he quickly realized he had his arms wrapped around a very sleepy, very _naked_ Ana Hawke, and he couldn’t have been happier. He dotted the back of her neck with gentle kisses, grinning against her sweat-salty skin. She tasted like sunshine and sex—it was a good combination. He pressed against her back, thrilling when her ass brushed against his groin, and mentally calculated how long before Carver would come looking for him.

Turns out, it was about 30 seconds before the massive Marcher boy came slamming through the door with a head full of steam. What was that old adage? What can go wrong…

“You!” Carver snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at Fenris. His blue eyes darted to his sister. “How _dare_ you?”

“How dare I what, Carver?” she snapped, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Have _sex?”_

Fenris tried to control the little threatening burst of laughter; as it was he had to disguise it as a very unconvincing cough. Usually, Ana was so sweet and gentle; to see her like this was a rare treasure, indeed.

“No need to _say_ it!” Carver blanched, no longer making eye contact with either of them. Apparently, he only now realized that only thing protecting Ana’s and Fenris’s modesty was a thin hotel sheet.

“Well I had it,” she countered, swinging her bare legs to the side of the bed. “And if you can’t hear it, don’t talk about it, because it’s none of your business.”

_She’s getting up… Oh, she wouldn’t._

  
  


She stood from the bed and padded across the room, completely unaffected by her own nudity. Fenris would have growled in open appreciation if Carver hadn’t been standing _right there._

_She did._

“Maker, Ana!” he shrieked, covering his eyes. “Put some damn clothes on!”

“I’m sorry, Carver,” Ana stretched, long and lean and curvy. Fenris couldn’t control his low purr when she shot a flirtatious smirk over her shoulder. “I can’t hear you over all the _sex_ I had last night.”

“Aargh!” Carver slammed the door, placing himself firmly on the other side. “Be at the car in 15 minutes with _clothes on!”_

“Yes, dear brother,” Ana cooed, pulling aside the curtains and wiggling her fingers. Fenris couldn’t control his low chuckle at this point. She straightened suddenly, a flush working its way across her impressive chest.

“I like your laugh,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. _Oh, now she’s shy._

“Do you, now?” He quirked a brow at her, smirking in open approval for her current state of dress.

“You should do it more often,” she sat on the edge of the bed, splaying a hand over his chest.

“Listen, Ana,” he rested his hand over hers, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “About last night--.”

“Fenris,” she murmured, smiling against his cheek. He would _never_ get over how much he loved hearing her say his name. “I’m OK if you’re OK. Actually, it was better than OK.”

“Really?” he turned his head slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

She nuzzled his nose with hers, blessing him with a soft giggle; “It was pretty spectacular.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he replied, punctuating his words with soft kisses at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, thanks,” she quipped, leaning into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her, carding his hands through her hopelessly tangled curls; “Ana, it was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

“Oh? I can come up with crazier things in my dreams,” she nibbled at his ear lobe, curling her tongue out to brush against the sensitive shell. “What are the chances of a repeat of last night?”

“Given your brother’s ultimatum, you either grossly underestimate my abilities, or grossly overestimate my abilities;” he pushed her off him gently, letting his lips linger on hers for a moment. “I’m not sure which.”

“Well we should probably get dressed, then,” she sighed, retrieving dry clothes from her duffel bag. “Pity. I was hoping to return the favor from last night.”

He would be filing _that_ mental image away for a while. He wouldn’t ever be able to look at rainy days the same again.

~~~

_Of course Bianca gets a flat tire. Why not?_

Fenris couldn’t be too upset, though. Ana was deep in conversation with a tiny girl from the Dalish reservation, Merrill, while she worked on changing the tire. He couldn’t help but admire her long, lean legs in those jeans, and her hair was swept up and away from her face, still wild and curly from the night before. His eyes lingered on the dark love bite on her collarbone, and he felt a swell of possessive, masculine pride.

_I put that there._

While the girls and Varric worked on Bianca, Carver came to sit next to Fenris, sullen even for him. He turned his striking blue eyes on Fenris, looking less mad and more… hurt.

“I’m not upset,” he said apropos of nothing.

“About?”

“This morning,” Carver visibly flushed. He must have seen more of his sister than he ever wanted to see in his life.

“I’m relieved,” Fenris replied. “Ana thinks the world of you.”

“Well, my sister means _the world_ to me,” Carver glared very pointedly at Fenris, and suddenly the mood shifted. Fenris chose to remain silent, letting his gaze wander back to the girls. There was a dark smear on Ana’s nose. “She’s… she’s all I have left.”

“Your mother?”

“Died with my father,” Carver snapped. “Oh, sure, everything works fine, but she’s not the same. She resents Ana and me. For living, while Beth and Father are forever perfect in death.

_Strangely poetic, coming from him._

“All I’m trying to say is that Ana is my big sister,” Carver continued, not making eye contact. “She loves everyone, and she bares her heart. She has no walls, and she deserves someone who won’t hurt her. She needs someone gentle.”

Carver chose to walk away at that point, leaving Fenris with an infuriating number of questions. What exactly was that supposed to mean? _Gentle?_ Ana _was_ gentle, sure but… What did she deserve? Fenris fixed his eyes on her, taking her in from her faded jeans to her bright smile; the rounded, freckled cheeks with the smear of grease over her nose; her bright grey eyes and long scarlet curls twisted into a knot… But in the end it was her _hands,_ of all things. There were soft and caring, always tentative. She’d handed him her heart last night, as if he couldn’t crush it into ash with a careless word or spoken thought.

He was rough and taciturn. He was often angry, lamenting a life that left deep, permanent, disfiguring scars. His knuckles were permanently marked from the fist fights he’d gotten into; his nose was permanently _off_ from the many times it had been broken. Once again, he thought of the people back in Kirkwall who loved Ana Hawke. Anders, as much as Fenris openly loathed the man, was a healer with a tender touch. Sebastian, whether he denied it or not, was a prince and a kind man on top of that. They could give Ana what she deserved.

_For some reason, she chose me. Why?_

Fenris stood, making his way back to the car, determined to set things right. It would hurt at first, sure, but someone would be there to pick up the pieces. Eventually. And he deserved it, for defiling a creature as lovely as her. But she grinned up at him (he’d never noticed she was shorter than him) and slid a hand into his. She was beauty and light… quickly becoming his light. He skimmed his thumb over her nose, trying to ignore Carver’s pointed glower, and showed her when his skin came away blackened. She giggled brightly, accepting the towel from Varric. She scrubbed at her face and turned back up towards him, her lips parted alluringly.

“Did I get it?”

“Almost, let me,” he took the rag from her, dabbing at the dark smear until her face was clean. Ignoring Carver’s indignant squawk and Varric’s throaty chuckle, he kissed the newly-cleaned skin. She smelled like rain and motor oil and, extremely distinctly, sex. “There. Perfect.”

“Thanks, handsome,” she leaned into the kiss, her lashes fluttering closed and brushing the bridge of his nose. “But we do have an audience.”

They climbed back into Bianca, Merrill prattling on about something Fenris couldn’t be bothered to keep track of. He didn’t deserve her… but he needed her. He would break her if he held on, but he couldn’t let go.

_I think this is what they call a predicament._

  
  


 


	6. Day 6: A Ragged Band of Misfits

**Varric:**

He knew they were going to have at it the second they laid eyes on one another. He’d never met Broody personally, but the way he spoke was so measured and wary. It was like every word was carefully chosen before he spoke it. But the way he’d gazed at Hawke and stumbled over ‘My name is Fenris’ spoke of instant attraction.

Hawke, on the other hand, calm and confident but infinitely kind, had brought out one thing she only did when she was uncomfortable—the _snark._ The girl was the sweetest human being in all of Thedas, but she had wit that could cut deeper than a knife, and when she was on edge she wielded it like an expert fencer. But it had been different that night. A little more self-depreciating. A touch more painfully honest.

_Oh, she’s falling for him._

When Hawke had recruited him for this trip (probably less for his good looks and more for his 6-seat Jeep) he’d made an instant bet with Isabela. 15 Sovereigns to her if they boned on the trip and broke up immediately. Varric would win 15 if they waited until they got home. Even Sebastian, that righteous little shit, had thrown his hat in the ring. Rivaini and him had a good laugh at the Chantry Boy when he’d made the adorably naïve suggestion that whatever tension there would culminate in them spending the night together, but it would break the ice. Sebastian had 15 on them falling in love. Blondie had near broken Sebastian’s nose.

_Seems I owe Sebastian some money._

Varric had only written one romance in his life, and it didn’t sell well, but all the research he did stayed. He saw the gentle way Broody cupped Hawke’s face, dabbing at the little smear of grease. He could see the way she curled into his side, relaxing completely in the nook his arm around her shoulder made. He’d never seen Hawke so at peace. Even Fenris seemed happier—if that slight softening of the signature scowl could count as happy—when Hawke was near.

_Well, shit. I do hate to lose a bet._

**Carver:**

Carver was notoriously oblivious to his sister. When he was in high school, he hadn’t realized she’d been snogging the neighbor boy until he walked in on a leg over situation while their parents were working. Ana had always been open with her affections, much to his chagrin when he was going through his ‘I’m too cool for my sister’ phase, but tentative in how she applied them. A hug for one person meant an entirely different thing for another, and she followed those social cues with more grace than he’d ever managed.

The night of the fire, he’d been so terrified, because something broke in her. She heard Magnus barking, and Carver wrapped his big arms around her, holding her in place. She’d screamed and screamed, and then Bethany— _his twin—_ ran in after the dog because of _course_ she did. He’d known the moment she died, and so caught up in his own grief, he hadn’t noticed Ana working. The whole time, she worked to get them to Kirkwall, she worked to collect from the insurance company. She worked with the funeral directors and the friends who called with “concerns”. She got Carver through the rest of high school and slapped a pile of university brochures in front of him on the anniversary, telling him to get his act together. And the whole time, he’d been oblivious to her grief, so caught up in his own he never stopped blaming her, and the quiet pain she carried inside of her.

He’d taken 18 years to see his sister as a person, and not just his big sister.

But of course, being him, he was oblivious to the growing attraction between her and Fenris until he’d _walked in._ And Ana being Ana, she’d used it against him, and as much as she claimed to love him, the sight of them _together_ … It would be burned into his retinas for the remainder of his days. Probably more.

But he didn’t _hate_ his sister; if anything she was too supportive. If he told her we was going to leave to follow his dreams she’d happily send him off with a map, a smooch, and a packed lunch. Sometimes he needed a good fight, and Ana was the last to provide that. But she was his sister, the only one he had left, and he felt the deep need to protect her. He was sure Fenris could be what Ana needed, given the right push.

But Carver being Carver, it came out wrong.

**Merrill:**

They were in _love._

Merrill could see it in the protective curve of his body around hers, the soft affectionate caress when wrapped his arm around her, and the _puppy eyes._ Oh, Creators, the puppy eyes. In the few hours she’d spent with them, Fenris had his eyes trained on her, and when she wasn’t looking there was a strange expression on his face. Like he might smile. Maybe.

It made her miss Tamlen so much; it almost made her regret leaving the reservation. She longed for days when someone would look at her like that. But she couldn’t have it, despite her instant crush on the younger Hawke ( _Creators_ they made them tall in Lothering, apparently) so she would observe. The heart-wrenching smiles and the way he looked completely stricken when she would look at him with those lovely eyes of hers was enough to sicken even a romantic like her.

And then he smiled. Actually _smiled_ , when she slid her hand into his, and they began the trek up Sundermount. The hiking trail was far too narrow for the massive Jeep, so they made their way on foot, and Fenris was never far from Hawke. Not once. He was in love.

And if Ana’s shy flushes, and her teasing (which seemed grossly out of character, if her brother was to be believed) and her constant silent pleas for contact were any indicator, she had it just as bad. Merrill didn’t know them well, but Hawke had been kind, and Fenris seemed a good man. They deserved each other, and she just wished she knew them well enough to tell them that, because something stood between them. One of them was putting up a wall somewhere, and it would eventually crack and crumble and crush this new, budding love. But that was none of her business, so for now, she would giggle under her breath every time that reticent man smiled at the tiny girl named Ana Hawke.

_I’m surprised his face didn’t crack._

  
  


 


	7. Day 7: Hope

Somewhere between Kirkwall and the Sundermount, they found themselves at a secluded mountain lake. Somehow, they’d missed it on their way through, but coming back, Ana had seen it on the map and insisted. The sun had gone down, and everything was softly lit by the full moon, and she couldn’t stop staring at him. They’d been left alone; Merrill and Carver were off somewhere doing Maker only knew what, and Varric did that thing he was so good at when he could sense a heavy conversation.

Since their _unbelievable_ night together, she hadn’t stopped staring. He was so beautiful in the worst lighting situations, but bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight, he looked like some sort of forgotten pagan god. His white hair and swirling tattoos practically glowed against his dark skin, and with his bare feet settled in the shadows he looked… vulnerable. He wasn’t looking at her, and for that she was grateful. She’d started to sense that maybe… maybe he regretted their time, and that hurt. While she would never pressure him into something he didn’t want to do, she couldn’t help but blame herself.

He was avoiding her. Ana, never being one to avoid conflict, made her way for the shore, resting her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t turn towards her, but he did place his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. She would never get over his hands, with their roughened fingertips and the white lines that ran all the way down the long digits. She thought of the tiny semicolon on the inside of her wrist, next to the scar. He knew they were there, he felt them, touched them, but never asked. For that, she would always be grateful.

“Fenris,” she said softly, almost whispered. He jumped at the sudden sound of her voice.

“Hawke,” he replied easily, not looking at her.

 _Hawke._ That stung a bit; Carver called her ‘sister’, her friends called her ‘Hawke’… for the past few days he’d called her ‘Ana’. It had been nice. She settled next to him, trying not to sever that tenuous connection.

“We have to talk.”

He sighed deeply, his fingers tightening reflexively on hers; “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” She tentatively brushed his bangs out of his eyes, and when he leaned into the touch, she ran her fingers through his hair. It was _so soft_ , and he seemed to like having it touched.

“I knew this was coming.”

“What?” She pulled her hand away, suddenly unsure where before she’d been so certain.

“We shouldn’t have--,” he ran scrubbed his hand over his face, refusing to meet her eyes. “It was too soon. We shouldn’t… I mean… I’m _sorry._ ”

“Fenris,” she began, trying to control the little catch in her throat. The twist of anxiety in her gut was near overwhelming. The tremble in her voice was noticeable, if the tightening of his jaw was to be believed. “Fenris, do you… regret what happened between us?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.

Her breath caught, and dangerous tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. She hated this about herself, how she _constantly_ let herself be defined by what others thought of her. But now that she’d asked, and he’d avoided, she had to press. She had to _know_ if the torch she carried would set her aflame if she didn’t douse it now. Once she got something in her head, she was worse than a Mabari bitch with a bone.

“Well do you?” she pressed. “Look, if you’re worried, I’m clean and tested and have an IUD, so nothing’s going to happen there--.”

“Oh, Ana it’s not like that!” he exclaimed. “ _Venhedis_ , I’m sorry.”

“So stop apologizing,” she demanded, though she tried to keep her voice gentle. Fenris had been through enough, and if he wanted to end their relationship (whatever relationship they had) that was his right. He didn’t deserve shit from her. “And just tell me. No harm done.”

“No harm done?”

“Fenris, whatever happens between us,” she took his hand in hers, squeezing, pressing it against her heart like she could communicate her sincerity with mere touch. “I will _always_ be your friend. You’re my _best friend_ , and I love you.”

“You…” he swallowed hard. “I don’t understand.”

“I love you,” she repeated. “As a friend and as a companion and maybe even as a boyfriend, I don’t know, but no matter what happens here I will _always_ love you.”

He angled towards her, cupping her cheek with _such tenderness_ she almost cried. The soft, affectionate smile on his face was priceless, and she knew she would treasure this moonlit moment her whole life, no matter what he said next; “I don’t deserve you.”

“What?” Shit. She was crying.

“I don’t, Ana,” his thumb moved around to brush her lip. His eyes flickered back and forth between hers; his intense gaze never once let her go. “You are so beautiful. You gave me your love like I am a man who is worthy of that kind of _gift._ You ought to have someone who will treat you right; you deserve someone gentle and loving. You don’t need my ghosts or my scars. I’ll hurt you, and the longer we’re together… the more that happens… I can’t bear _losing you._ If it means that you’re just my best friend, then so be it.”

She could see where he was going; his eyes were far away and pained. She leaned forward to press tiny kisses to the adorable furrow between his brows. She brushed his hair to the side, letting her forehead rest against his.

“We’re both idiots,” she let out a soft giggle, feeling suddenly _giddy._ In his own way, Fenris was saying ‘I love you’ because Fenris couldn’t say ‘I love you.’ Not the way she did.

“What?” He tried to pull back, but she held him fast. She drew him into her arms, trying to communicate all she felt through her embrace.

“Fenris,” she murmured against his temple. “I want to be with you. I knew what that entailed; I know you have your share of demons. I want to share that burden with you, when you’re ready. I want to get to know you and… spend time with you, and make coffee and be disgustingly domestic and… I want a future. With you.”

“You do?” The sheer hope, the unmitigated _joy_ , in his voice was near blinding. She loosened her grip so he could pull back, look her in the eyes, so there would be _no more doubt._

“If that’s what you want,” she said, nuzzling her nose with his, reveling in the gentle sigh that ghosted over her lips. “Then stay with me. Please?”

~~~

He had to kiss her. He couldn’t _not_ kiss her. He surged forward, gathering her in his arms, hoping to say everything he couldn’t say. Words weren’t his forte, but he hoped every feeling he felt—his regrets and his pains and his _joy_ —into that crush of his lips on hers. She was so… well, beautiful didn’t seem to encapsulate everything she was to him. She was light and hope and laughter and bliss… And he _loved_ her. He just didn’t know how to say it. So he let this little private, moonlit kiss by the secluded lake say it for him.

~~~

“Hey, Fenris?” she murmured from his lap, her grey eyes fighting to stay open.

“Yeah?” he brushed her hair back from her face, tearing his eyes from the approaching skyline of Kirkwall. She was a much better view anyway.

“When Bartrand leaves, I want you with me,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” he laughed, knowing his smile was too fond to be anything close to biting. “I’m happy to go wherever you go, Ana.”

She grinned, a shy flush working its way across her freckled cheeks; “And when we get back… I’m getting my own place. I could use some help on the rent.”

He gave his own shy smile, imagining waking up to _this woman_ every morning, and finding he rather didn’t hate the idea; “We’ll see.”

 


End file.
